Rutans in Siberia
by TheDavibob
Summary: Professor Andrew Lowe, researching the effects of Global Warming in 2010AD, comes across a problem, that threatens to jeopardise the research and more importantly lose him money. But that could be the least of his worries...
1. Green Snow

**Green Snow**

The man's hands were shivering, even within the thickest gloves he could find on the British or Russian markets, as he held the thin tube of ice he'd drawn from the ground. It looked like any other piece of ice that could have been drawn out of any ground. He supposed, with his degree and his job, he should be able to identify the problems that this ice indicated. But he too cold to honestly care, preferring instead to collect what samples he could in as little time as possible, and retreat to some (centrally-heated) Siberian town, where he could attempt to defrost.

A cold sun beat down on the ice. 'Come to sunny Siberia,' he muttered, 'and lose your fingers. Measure how much global warming isn't happening here, and how it is still too cold for reasonable human habitation.' He was talking to nobody in particular, as one does when they need to let off steam (which was condensing hastily upon being let off, in this case).

'Provessor Lowe,' said his small, dark Russian assistant, his thick accent even more muffled by the scarf around his face. 'I think ve need a few more samples, vivout us touching them, and then ve can head back.'

Head back? That would be good, thought the professor. 'Yes, yes. You do that…' he paused, groping for a name, 'Mendeleev.' He doubted that was the boy's name, but then he had never been very good with names. At least he could be reasonably sure that his first name was either Vladimir or Dmitri, as all Russians. 'I will, erm, start to pack away.' The boy hurried off.

Lowe returned to the tent, poured himself a cup of rather weak coffee from his colder-than-it-was supply of hot water. He made half an effort to put some of his paperwork into his bag, gave up and sat back on the chair. He had an assistant to do that job.

It had seemed such an easy choice, when trapped in a rather boring office at a rather boring university in a rather boring country, to come out on a not-quite-so-boring trip to the most northern points of Russia to measure the real-life effects of global warming. But he hadn't imagined (or hadn't tried to imagine) that it would be so, well, cold. And dull. At least he had an assistant, if he couldn't remember his name.

This assistant poked his head through the tent flap, accidently letting in a gust of wintry air that dropped the temperature of Lowe's coffee considerably. 'Sir,' said the Russian, 'I have put samples in car. Ve should go bevor it gets too cold.'

Too cold? thought Lowe, but he didn't voice his opinions on Eastern temperatures. But he was quite happy to help pull down the tent, as long as he was sure they'd be back in civilisation quicker if him helping helped.

Six minutes (and twenty-six seconds) later they were in the car, one of those big, four by fours that had the steering wheel on the wrong side of the car. The professor was driving, giving himself the impression that he had done something reasonably useful on that days outing. The ice was stored, neatly and safe from contamination, across the back seat and into the boot. Lowe didn't like driving in sub-zero temperatures, but he supposed he didn't have much choice, as global warming wouldn't happen at a quick enough pace to give him another option. He sighed, and put his foot down on the accelerator.

----

Nine o'clock, and Lowe was sifting through radio channels on the radio, kindly left in his room by whoever was letting the university lodge there. He had a nice view over some unpronounceable Russian town, with the research centre placed awkwardly in the centre of his line of sight. There was nothing on the radio (in an understandable language, at least) so he gave up and flopped back onto his bed.

His phone rang. A proper, ringing, sound (like phones should have). He rolled onto his bed, scooped it up off the window sill, and put it to his ear.

'Hello?' he asked, reasonably apprehensive.

'Andy? It's Catherine.' (Bad sign – his boss only rang when she wanted to tell him off about something.) 'Can you come over to the centre?'

'Now?'

'Please, it's important.'

'It's ten in the flippin' evening!'

'No, it's nine. And you're meant to be the expert. Something's really odd about the last lot of ice you brought in.'

----

Andrew Lowe was still grumbling as he crossed over the frozen-over street, a drizzle of snow covering his thick black hat. The work day should end when he got back to the apartment, he should be allowed to do what he likes, go to sleep, have a wash, watch telly, other such ways to spends nighttimes, not come back to the office and get cold. And more tired.

That said the thing shown to him by Catherine (Dr. Roberts, when he could be bothered to be polite) was reasonably interesting, he would admit. One chunk of ice, probably picked up by his assistant at the end of the day, wasn't the same as normal ice. It wasn't white, slightly transparent. Well, most of it was, just not the end.

'It's green. And glowing,' Lowe said, staring at the sample through the window of the sealed room it had been restricted to.

'Nice to see you still possess powers of observation,' said Dr. Roberts, tartly.

But it was green, and glowing. Afixed to the end of the ice was what looked like a bright green blob, which seemed to give off a gentle hue.

'Is it alive?' Lowe asked.

'No. But it seems like it was.'

'Alien?'

Catherine looked at him, and he couldn't help but notice that she looked tired. She was looking down her nose, in that superior way she did when she thought he was being stupid. It didn't help that she was taller than him.

'Of course it's not alien,' she snapped. 'It's probably just some rare far-north creature that seems a bit different to what we're used to. It's probably just some sort of ice-fish.'

'Oh. Not a metal man then. Just wondering, as normal "Earth" animals don't glow.' She glared at him. 'Done any DNA checks yet? You being the biologist, and all that.' She glared at him again.

'No, but when I do I'll be sure to make sure that it is a real creature, none of your "alien" crap.'

'Don't get angry, Doctor. I just thought, if it is something "not of this world" that maybe we should get in touch with the government or something? We're meant to be super vigilant for aliens, you know. The telly said so.'

Catherine raised her eyes in a sceptical way, not turning to him, preferring instead to observe the ice in the storage room. And the glowing, green blob.

'See you tomorrow, then,' said Lowe, and he retreated to his (warm) bed before she could stop him.

----

Eleven o'clock, Sunday morning, Lowe with little intention of getting out of bed. But the phone call made him.

'Andy?' came Catherine's voice.

'Yup,' said Lowe, tired. He wasn't awake enough for big words.

'I need a word with you. I know you're not working today, but it's important.'

'About the blob?'

There was a pause, and Lowe heard Dr. Roberts give a sharp intake of breath. 'Yes.' Another pause. 'Look, I don't want to talk at the office. Could we go out for lunch in one of those pretty Russian restaurants in town?'

'You asking me on a date?'

Catherine sounded exasperated. 'Please, Andy, this is serious.'

'Sure. I'll meet you in the centre at half twelve. See you there.'

'Bye.' She clicked off.

Lowe decided he would be better off getting dressed.

----

'So it is alien?' Lowe asked, smiling.

'I didn't say that. I said it didn't have DNA like I would expect. Not in the usual form, anyway,' was Catherine's hurried response. A waiter came over with a menu. It was in Russian.

'But you're implying it was alien,' persisted Lowe. Catherine didn't respond, she was browsing the menu. Lowe realised this wasn't going anywhere. 'What's a glass of coke in Russian?' he asked.

'I'll order,' was the response, resigned that she was the only one able to speak any Russian.

With the first drinks on the table, Lowe managed to drag the conversation back to the alien.

'It's alien.' Catherine seemed resigned to this possibility. 'It's dead, but not very. I doubt it getting stabbed by a drill helped it much. It seems to be shedding spores, which I'm not wholly convinced don't have potential to grow. So I don't think we should go anywhere near it. That said, I doubt it's dangerous.'

She drew out a small (glass?) container, filled with a green slime. 'What happened to not going anywhere near it?' asked Lowe, smiling slightly. Catherine gave him a withering glare.

'I needed it to do tests. And I thought you might like to see that it's glowing more,' she explained. Unsurprisingly, her observation was correct.

'I thought it was dead.'

'I don't think it's quite an "it". I think it's a part of "them",' Catherine attempted to explain, but didn't do very well.

'Oh.' There was a pause as some indistinguishable meat was placed at their places. It tasted alright, given the home-cooked ready-meals he'd been living on for the past twenty-five years since he'd first gone to university.

They ate in silence for a few moments, Lowe's eyes moving rapidly around, from the snow outside to the well-roundedness of one of the waitresses to the small stain on Catherine's collar.

'So what do we do about it? The alien?' he asked.

'You do whatever you feel you should. Being the highest ranked person on this trip, I think it's your responsibility to contact the government on matters of global security.' She said this without the slightest trace of sarcasm, unfortunately.

'You only wanted me on this trip because having a Professor makes it easier to get grant applications.'

'True, but now you're here you can do all the important stuff, while I carry on with my job.'

Catherine had an annoying habit of delegating roles that weren't directly related to her, and this typically meant that Professor Lowe had a habit of receiving jobs that weren't directly related to him, either. And she was in charge.

'So who do I call?' Lowe asked. 'Moscow? London? The Queen?' he suggested.

'I thought you were the alien expert.' She smiled at him in a rather overly mocking way.

'I hate you sometimes.'

'I know.'

The rest of the main course was completed in silence, with Lowe wondering how much of Catherine's money he could waste in a long distance call with the Ministry of Defence, or the Ministry of Aliens, or whoever did extra-terrestrials in Britain. Maybe he could make her pay for a business class flight to Geneva, or somewhere, where he could present the specimen to the watching eyes of world science. Professor Andrew F. Lowe, discoverer of a new alien creature, front page of _the Telegraph_.

The main course was cleared away. 'What do you want for dessert?' Catherine asked.

'Ice cream,' said Lowe, without really paying attention to the temperature outside. He realised his mistake after Catherine gave out a short chuckle, and hastily changed his order to a coffee. Not tea, hated the stuff.

The drinks came. Delightfully warm, even if they didn't taste that nice. At least they had mints to go with them.

'Why didn't you want to talk at the office?' asked Lowe.

'Well…' Catherine seemed slightly embarrassed. 'I didn't want to make anyone think anything was wrong. I think they've all seen the alien, so if we pretend it's nothing then they won't get scared.'

'So why do they think you're having lunch with me on my day off?'

'It's fairly obvious, isn't it?'

'True. You're a sly one.'

Outside, the warming effects of the coffee wearing off, Lowe was resigned to returning to the office, as it seemed like he wouldn't get much of a day off. He noticed a group of dark-clad people (with those big, fluffy hats) standing beneath a lamppost. One of them noticed the two scientists, and the group slowly trudged in front of them, blocking their way.

'Hello. Ve vud like to speak to you, yes.' No introductions, just a rather threatening greeting. In English, as if they were expected.

'About what?' asked Catherine, trying to seem brave. She had tensed. You didn't want to feel her slaps, so Lowe hoped these men weren't going to do anything stupid.

'Ve are NATUR.' (He sounded out each letter individually.) 'Ve verk for the Russian government. Ve are investigating your scientific institute, yes.' He voiced the "c" at the start of "scientific".

'It's perfectly legitimate. I have all the papers at the office, we can show you.'

'No, that is fine. Ve haf checked all the papers. Ve just need to make sure you haf not taken any equipment or samples from the centre, as it is vorbidden.'

Catherine gave a quick gasp of 'sugar' before she could help herself, obviously thinking of the alien sample she had in her inside coat pocket.

'Yes?' asked the scary Russian man.

'I… I took one of the cameras to my apartment to look at some of the photos. One of the centre's cameras,' claimed Catherine, yet Lowe doubted there was even a camera to take.

'Oh,' said the Russian, seemingly disappointed. The mood in the group seemed to lift, as a few hasty words of Russian suggested we were "clean". They hadn't even asked Lowe. Maybe he didn't look threatening. 'Tank you. Ve hope you enjoy the rest of your time in Russia.' And they were gone.

The two scientists hurried off, colder and in need of warmth. And scared.

'What did they want?' Lowe asked.

'The sample, probably,' was Catherine's response. 'I don't know how they knew, though. I doubt they work for the government, though. You can check that when you call about the alien.' Lowe's heart sank; she still wanted him to call some high-ranking official about a potential alien, which would without doubt result in him looking tremendously silly. It looked like he'd be working on my day off, regardless.

----

Lowe didn't need to call any Russian minister to find out whether NATUR were genuine. The research centre told the whole story. The police, the various members of the research crew and random members of the public were standing outside, in the freezing cold, looking at the outside of the building. If it wasn't so transparent that something was wrong, Lowe would have found it very funny watching them shiver. Catherine gave a little gasp, but didn't say anything. They hurried up to join the people standing in a semi-circle around police barriers.

'What happened?' Lowe asked in a hurried whisper to Mendeleev (or whatever he was called). He seemed surprised to see him standing behind him, but perfectly willing to answer.

'Robbers broke in and robbed things.'

'That's normally what robbers do.'

The day had started off rather differently from most normal days. It seemed to be carrying on in that vein – no matter how odd things managed to get, Lowe was sure that there could be something odder around the corner. Green blobs, aliens, scary and sinister Russian gangs, only strange lights in the sky were missing.

'What did they rob?' asked Lowe. He felt like he should be scared, but he wasn't really feeling it. He was content just to let the weirdness flow, and if he was lucky he might wake up at the end of it.

'Samples. It is really odd, and the police don't get it. There are some government persons here, too. I tink they vant to talk to you,' said Mendeleev, matter-of-factly. He didn't really seem to care, or maybe it was some sort of stunned stupor.

As if on cue, two "government persons" came over. 'Mr. Lowe?' asked one, in a barely decipherable accent that managed to muddle Lowe's own name into a state that he could barely understand it. Lowe nodded. 'And Miss Roberts?' Lowe looked at Catherine, who seemed to be crying. She nodded underneath gloved hands. 'Ve are government persons, and ve think you should come viv us.'

'Where?' asked Catherine, suddenly. Her voice sounded weak, strained.

'Moscow. I don't vink is save here. I have bad feeling about zis. I vink NATUR appear soon,' was the official's official response. It all seemed so sudden. The official registered surprise in Lowe's eyes at the mention of NATUR, yet seemed to disregard it as predictable.

'You seen NATUR, yes? Hmmm.' The official pondered this for a moment, turned to his associate for a moment, jabbered something in Russian and turned back. 'Yes, you come Moscow. Ve have car, ve take you to station. Ve will talk on rail.' The resigned look in the officials dark eyes suggested that this was more serious than it had appeared. At least Lowe wouldn't have to phone Moscow, which was something of a relief. His Russian wasn't up to much.

Boarding the train at some Siberian station, Lowe made a mental note of the strange things that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. The green blob, now lost to some mysterious (and as yet, unexplained) Russian (terrorist?) group, the group themselves, the fact that Catherine had seemed almost civil in a meal with him (the strangest thing) and the fact that the Russian government was escorting them, first-class, to Moscow. It had been a strange day, and Lowe couldn't quite understand why.

Maybe the long train journey would clear up a few of the more burning questions.


	2. Geneva Connection

**Geneva Connection**

Despite the official's (Lowe had discovered his name – something unpronounceable to the English tongue) assurance that they would "talk on rail", it was an few hours before they got around to anything. It was still Sunday afternoon when they helped Lowe and Catherine to load hastily packed trunks onto the train, yet Catherine, shocked and scared, declared that she wanted a rest. So, as she slept in her sleep, Lowe lost money to the two officials, who seemed to have a good grasp of the skill of poker.

The carriage they were in was empty, save for some old man down the other end, who glanced up disapprovingly every time Lowe swore loudly (which, considering his card-playing skill left something to be desired, was reasonably often). From time to time Lowe would turn to watch the bleakness of the Siberian countryside scuttle past them.

It was night when Catherine finally awoke, Lowe dozing over the _Sunday Telegraph_, kindly provided, somehow, from one of the Russian's bags. His mind was nominally on the crossword, but it seemed to be wandering to the topic of what Mendeleev (his Russian assistant, not the late chemist) was doing now, now that the two people in charge (and with all the money) had been carted off by some government officials.

A groan from Catherine indicated she was awake. She glanced around for a moment, regaining the knowledge of where exactly she was, glared at Lowe sitting next to her (she had a habit of doing that) and stretched herself into sitting upright. The Russian who could speak English sat up, finished his cigarette and busied himself into collecting all his paperwork together, from the mess he'd concocted across the table. The other official, more well-built and less well-taught-in-English, was asleep, and there seemed little reason to wake him. The first official pulled his notebook in front of him and a pen out of his breast pocket.

'Ve need to talk, quickly. I do not vant to rush you,' he said, oblivious of the contradiction that suggested. 'This may be very important. Please.'

Catherine must have regained her senses by then, as she had started to move things about quickly, making sure they were in the perfect order, the way women do. She had produced the small vial of alien from under her cloak, and it was now sitting on the table. The official eyed it with interest.

'You haf a sample?' he asked. I could forgive him for stating the obvious.

'Yes.' Catherine had a habit of stating the obvious, too.

'That is good. Haf you tested it?'

'Yes.' Catherine had a wad of paper from her hand luggage on the table.

'May I look?' She pushed the pack over, and the official flicked through the pages with interest. He jotted down a note every moment or so, in his notebook.

Lowe felt slightly left out. 'What is it about?'

'The alien,' said Catherine, in her stupid-boy voice. 'I did a few experiments on it overnight, and that shows the raw results.'

'Experiments? Like what? Why didn't you tell me earlier?'

'Because you didn't really care, as far as I could tell, if you could understand,' said Catherine, off-handedly. She had a habit of making Lowe feel stupid. 'But the experiments said a lot about the alien. It seems to be organic-based, at least, it seems to be made of sugar, but some of the chemicals are vastly different to anything I've ever seen before. And it has some strange electrical properties. It gives off a low current, and some sort of signal, and seems to have affection for consuming electricity.'

'I thought it was dead?' said Lowe, mildly confused.

'Yes, but it is still working, like nerve-endings in animals after they've died, leaving them twitching for a few minutes. It just seems to take its time to switch off.'

'Excuse me, yes,' said the official, suddenly. 'Do you have copy on computer of datas?' He was talking, unsurprisingly, to Catherine.

'Yes,' was the response, and Catherine was standing up, pushing Lowe out of his seat so she could get to her suitcase, from which she extracted her laptop. The official had extracted his from somewhere, too. Lowe felt a bit left out, without a computer now perched in front of him on the table. Catherine passed a memory stick across the table after a few moments, and the official set about doing whatever he was doing with the data.

'Erm…' started Lowe. 'Can I ask exactly why we're going to Moscow? Sorry, I'm just a bit confused about what exactly we've got ourselves into.'

'A moment,' said the official, and he was typing something. Then he looked up. 'I haf requested a meeting with Geneva. It vill start at eight evening, which gives me minutes to tell you of problems.'

He looked a bit troubled for a moment. 'You haf found alien, no? That is problem. Because there is alien under ice. That is problem, because alien is bad. And we cannot collect samples, because NATUR are bad too, and they stop anybody researching with the ice.'

'Why weren't we stopped?' asked Catherine.

'You were. They do not work officially, they prefer rob and steal and break. They damage your centre. We need take you to Moscow, as government needs information on NATUR. And we now know there is alien, too, because of what Miss Catherine has been telling us.' Lowe didn't know when Catherine had been talking to the official, but he guessed it was when he was collecting his vast stash of magazines from his apartment. They had certainly got to the car before him.

'I vink, as you have sample, NATUR come for you. Now we need to go quickly. I hope ve have not caused you troubled, and you vill be save.' Something beeped from his computer. 'Miss Catherine can connect to meeting, too.' He jotted down a URL and passed it over. 'Password is Pluto. Like planet.' Catherine started typing something.

'Who is the meeting with?' asked Lowe.

'UNIT. Alien hunters. United Nat-.' The official stopped, slightly disturbed by something. 'Unified Intelligence Taskforce. Worldwide. Got links and datas, and we need reference. We think alien may be threat.'

It was eight. The meeting was due to begin.

---

The narrative now takes us to Geneva, and to two UNIT personnel, an officer and a scientist. Compared with the people on the train, sitting and typing, this end of the meeting was frantic and almost panicky. They had a team behind them, checking and comparing the data. They might have had high-tech computer systems, but not all information had been transferred, so they needed a horde of people on the case.

The reason this case had been transferred to high importance was because it was directly related to Operation Pluto and the NATUR file, a problem that UNIT had been trying, in vain, to ignore.

'Fill me in on Operation Pluto, Frau Warner,' said the American, large and intimidating.

'Well, officer,' began the lady, not old but with a sharp aura of competency that suggested she had worked for more hours than many would in their entire life. She spoke her English as well as she spoke her German, crisp and properly, without the flaws that social gatherings can bring. 'Operation Pluto. Operation Pluto.' She pondered how to directly answer the American's question for a moment, before seemingly settling on the best course of action.

'Pluto is not an operation in your sense, officer. There are no soldiers, no direct investigations, none of your James Bonds. It is merely a series of strange geological quirks, possibly extra-terrestrial in origin, that have eluded investigation and examination.'

'I'm not quite getting you. Why isn't this being investigated properly, instead of relying on the reports of two Brits who don't have a clue what they're involved in?' asked the Officer, raising his voice slightly. The counter on his computer ticked to 4:00. The meeting was due to begin.

'You don't seem to have much of a clue either, sir, so don't use that tone. It is like your Bermuda Triangle, say, with strange readings and mysterious disappearances, except we don't know the cause and all we know is that it is centred underneath the Siberian ice.' She typed something. A message flashed up on the Officers computer, and simultaneously on the two laptops on the Russian train.

--[JWarner] Are we all ready to begin?

A moment passed, then two more messages flashed up, near simultaneously.

--[DButyrskaya] Da

--[CRoberts[Guest]] yup

'Can you explain to me about the NATUR file, then?' asked the American, sensing he was going to get little more out of Frau Warner on Operation Pluto. She finished what she was typing before looking at him.

--[JWarner] I am Frau Warner of UNIT. Also here is Lieutenant General Ray of the military branch of the United Nation Intelligence Taskforce.

--[JWarner] *Unified Intelligence Taskforce.

--[JWarner] Any information transferred in this meeting is classified and is not allowed to be spread without expressed permission of UNIT. Only Mr. Burtyskaya of the alien branch of the Russian government, his colleague Mr. Eltzov and the two British scientists, Dr. Roberts and Prof. Lowe are allowed to partake in this meeting, other than members of the Unified Intelligence Taskforce.

'NATUR are a Russian terrorist group,' explained Frau Warner. 'Or that is what they appear to be. There is no direct evidence of any wrongdoings, but they seem to be able to prevent any research into Operation Pluto. The two British scientists seem to have evidence linking them directly to it.'

'Are they Soviet or something?'

'They claim they were set up during the Socialist Regime in the twentieth century -' (Ray muttered something, presumably negative, about Soviet politics) '- and claim they are a policing force that has never been disbanded. But we have evidence linking them back further than that, we raided the Torchwood Archives and found references to a NATUR dating back to the late 19th Century, and there have been reports of a hostile defensive group in Siberia almost since the dawn of writing.'

--[DButyrskaya] I have sent copies of doctor Roberts data.

--[JWarner] Yes, it is being printed off and processed now. Thank you.'

'Why is this all so important now?' asked Ray.

'Because… This is all very hush-hush, please don't tell anyone. Two UNIT soldiers were found, shot, in Northern Siberia yesterday evening, sixty miles from where the two Brits were based. We think it was NATUR. They are not normally so hostile, which either suggests it wasn't them; the soldiers had found out something they shouldn't; or that NATUR are suddenly very scared. And the sample that the scientists have found may suggest the latter.'

'Do they still have the sample?' asked Ray.

'Yes, which is why it is important to get them here.'

'Do they know they are coming?'

Frau Warner smiled a businesswoman's smile, the sort that thrives on manipulation. 'Not yet.'

--[JWarner] Is the sample still in testable condition?

--[JWarner] And safe?

--[CRoberts[Guest]] yes. it hasnt been opened outside the lab.

--[JWarner] Hmm… It would be good if I could see that sample.

--[JWarner] Mr Butyrskaya, could you arrange it to be set to UNIT?

--[CRoberts[Guest]] i can bring it. looks like were going home anyway.

'Voila,' said Frau Warner, switching to the third language she was fluent in, just for a brief moment.

--[DButyrskaya] I can arrange a flight of Moscow. Where do you want them to go? Geneva?

--[JWarner] I think it would be best for us to meet in London.

'London, England,' she added for the benefit of the American.

'Are you mocking me?' he asked, his voice raised.

'Not at all.'

--[CRoberts[Guest]] i dont want to be any trouble.

--[JWarner] No trouble, it is all in hand.

--[DButyrskaya] Give me a bit.

--[DButyrskaya] I must contact my superior on flights.

A young lady, blonde with tied back hair, handed Lieutenant General Ray a large wad of paper, emblazoned with the title "Pluto: Alien Data". The efficiency of UNIT failed to come as much of a surprise to him anymore, he was more concerned with eying up the girl, who now walked back to the milling hordes of workers.

He flicked through the sheets. Chemical composition, interesting electrical outputs, potential climates, lifespan, time of death, intelligence, resistance to testing… And some strange signals given off, at which Ray grimaced slightly.

'For a non-alien biologist, she seems to know what she is doing,' said Ray, almost appreciatively.

'Pardon? Oh, most of the data she gave was raw. We've just converted it into a useable format?'

'In what, ten minutes?' asked Ray. Frau Warner nodded. Another thought struck him. 'Are we now in charge of this operation? You and me, I mean.'

'Yes, in practice. I control it all and you control the boys with guns if we need them.'

'Good.' There was something almost malicious in his voice. He had a thing about guns.

--[DButyrskaya] They can get them to London Heathrow for 19:00 UTC Monday evening.

--[JWarner] We will meet them there.

--[DButyrskaya] Unfortunately I am not free to come with them. Can you ensure their security from entrance into Britain? They come by public flight.

--[JWarner] They will be given a full, military escort.

--[JRay] Sure, people. They'll be safe.

--[CRoberts[Guest]] isnt that a bit far?

--[JWarner] I forget that humour doesn't always work on the internet. But you'll have a security guard or two.

'Nice of you to join the conversation,' noted Frau Warner, and the American smiled.

--[JWarner] We will get you a hotel in the city centre. Do you and the professor want separate rooms?

--[CRoberts[Guest]] yes

--[CRoberts[Guest]] defniately.

--[JRay] Tell me, the signals you found given off, could you make any trace of what the signal was about?

--[CRoberts[Guest]] no. it wasnt normal em signals either.

--[CRoberts[Guest]] y?

--[JRay] Just wondered.

--[JWarner] Look, I think this is fairly fruitless continuing this today. We'll meet up on Monday, do some proper tests on the sample, and see what we're fighting.

--[JWarner] Thank you.

--[DButyrskaya] Thank you also.

--[CRoberts[Guest]] ta

Names clicked off on the messaging programme. Not a long conversation then, and seemingly generally fruitless.

'Michèle!' called Frau Warner. 'Réservez deux cartes au Londres, merci. En train. Première classe. Dès que possible.'

'Bien sûr, Madame,' said the blonde girl Officer Ray had noticed earlier. There was a lull in the activity. The girl came back, ten minutes later, with a pair of tickets and a large file. 'Il depart à environ six heures.' She mumbled something else, which Ray didn't catch (his French being up to little as it was).

'What did she say?' he asked as she skipped away. Frau Warner seemed concerned about something, probably the file she had just been handed.

'We have a match. With the alien.' She suddenly stood up, slipped the file into her bag and started to clear her desk. 'We have a train to catch. I'll explain as we walk.'

They left the main UNIT headquarters quarter of an hour later, after navigating long corridors and tedious numbers of security checks. It led directly onto _La Gare de Cornavin_, through what appeared, from the outside, to be a dusty, rotting door, marked 'Staff Only' (in French). They hadn't managed to talk as they walked down, Frau Warner had been on the phone the whole way, arranging accommodation and other necessities, while Officer Ray had hummed along to some lyricless melody he had his head. As they sat down on a bench, watching a train pull into the station, two men in black came up to them, pulling a large suitcase each.

'Merci,' said Frau Warner, genially, and the men left. Ray looked confused. 'Our luggage,' she explained.

'Oh,' said Ray, things becoming slightly clearer. He felt self-conscious in a suit, surrounded by more casually dressed businessmen and academics and sightseers, he preferred military clothes. It made him look more intimidating.

Frau Warner pulled out the file. 'We found a match,' she said, simply, and Ray knew this would be important. 'There's no hoping that this alien is harmless now.' She flicked through the pages. '1902, perfect alien match. Big explosions, lots of dead people, yet no known cause. We'll need to both read this on the train.' She passed him the file. It wasn't thick, but it seemed full of text and complicated diagrams. "The Fang Rock Massacre: Official Report" was stamped on the front, underneath the old UNIT logo (before the problems with the UN). Maybe this would tell them what they were up against.


	3. The Fang Rock Massacre: Official Report

This report concerns the extra-terrestrial orientated events that took place at a lighthouse situated at Fang Rock. It consists of information drawn from three distinct sources: the original report by the British Extra-Terrestrial Agency (BETA), a founder member of the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce (UNIT); electromagnetic data used with permission from the Torchwood Agency, London (a specialised alien transmission observer, unsanctioned by the UNIT); and original research carried out recently by UNIT, from September to October 1962. This report, though inconclusive, is aimed at clearing the mist surrounding the tragedy.

Fang Rock is a small island off the south coast of the United Kingdom, not far from Southampton, Hampshire. It is featureless, save for an old lighthouse, around which investigations were centred. This lighthouse has not been used since the tragedy, so researchers were able to get an accurate look at how the lighthouse was left following the incident.

The recently electrified lighthouse gave few secrets. It seemed to be in reasonable working order, save for the dust and rust that one would expect to converge upon such a place over half a century. Being unused since the massacre, with the current lighthouse constructed on nearby Brook Rock, not three months after the incident, our investigators were able to construct a vital picture of the last few hours on the lighthouse.

The bodies, long removed, suggested electrocution – fitting in with the reports of the alien discovered (see Section 3). Edwardian medical research lacked the modern methods of potentially extra-terrestrial research, thus records are uncomplete and often confused. However, we do know that there was a group of non-workers staying at the lighthouse, Colonel Skinsale, Lord Palmerdale, Miss Lesage and Mr Harker, believed to have become stranded when there ship hit the rocks. What this suggests about the successful (or not) operation of the lighthouse in unclear.

The telegraph machine has been purposely sabotaged. Investigators claim this is likely to have been caused by the alien – itself possibly a scout (Section 3), as a way of making sure there would be no advance warnings of the attack. Alternatively, it could have been one of the humans.

The generator had not been used since the incident, but scorch marks suggest massive power drain and electrocutions in its vicinity – the civilian police and medical services originally blamed all the deaths on the workings of the electrical lighthouse. Though later research by UNIT has categorically proven alien involvement, the public believe the original story about a dodgy generator and lightbulb, possibly in large part to a general fear of electricity from that time period.

As is fairly typical of any alien involvement, reports of flashing lights in the sky were easy to dismiss as military or government testing, or perhaps some misunderstanding of the observer. In attempts to cover up this incident, however, BETA are reported to be disturbed by the coherency of reports of a "great green spaceship" and a "flying thing" that exploded with "the biggest flash of light I've ever seen" – one woman is recorded as reporting damage to her eyes.

Torchwood, too, have data that would suggest the presence and destruction of an alien spaceship, yet for reasons unclear made no further investigation of the matter. It is also unclear whether the spaceship that was destroyed was of the same species and origin as the landing scout, or of a different species.

We can be reasonably confident at least one alien landed on Fang Rock on the night of the massacre. There were samples of alien cells discovered scattered throughout the lighthouse and the rock, yet Edwardian alien research was unable to decipher much information from these specimens. We know a few details about them though.

Firstly, the alien was green. Also it could likely swim – there is evidence that it had spent time underwater recently. That said, there were traces of the alien scattered around the lighthouse, including on the staircase, suggesting the alien was capable of motion on land as well as in sea.

One researcher is recorded to have believed the cells themselves grew and multiplied within his laboratory when put near an electrical current, however his reports are unsubstantiated. However, an affinity for electricity would explain the massive power drain observed at Fang Rock. It has been suggested that the alien landed on the island, drained of power, and used it as a refuelling station, from which it could take off again. This, however, does not explain the explosion, though it may explain the reason for the massacre – the alien simply needed energy. If this is the case, we must be thankful that such a powerful creature failed to reach the mainland, or was merely uninterested.

The few tests that were carried out on the alien can be found under the UNIT file on the 881. They have not been officially named, and no reappearance matching the original data has ever been confirmed, and though there have been reports from all over the world of "green blobs" throughout the past few millennia, none have ever been satisfactorily linked to the Fang Rock Massacre. That said, the 881 are classified as a Red Threat to humanity.


	4. London

It was a cold, grey London evening that one would not normally associate with the beginning of the end of the world.

A train pulled into St. Pancras, its doors opening to let tired passengers grumble their way onto the platform. Nobody noticed the American and the German, who could easily be bankers or lawyers. They looked tired, yes, and fraught, yes, but no more so than any other on the platform.

Neither would anyone have noticed anything strange about the two scientists collecting luggage off the turntable at Heathrow, an hour later, gloomily commenting on the rain outside, as the British are wont to do. They could be a husband and wife on return from a Russian holiday, or two work colleagues. Even the small box the woman held with some trepidation could be anything from important papers to a birthday present.

The two Russians waiting quietly outside a West London hotel, plush and expensive, could be mistaken for a pair of tourists enjoying some local Fish and Chips, breathing in an admittedly cold evening air. Indeed, they had a camera, and if one cared to enquire, one could find the address of the friend they had been staying with for the past ten days, and their visas and the like.

NATUR had overseas agents for times like this.

All three groups were linked. Surprisingly, each of them had identical aims – none of them wanted the end of the world. But all of them had a different way of making sure this didn't happen.

Andrew Lowe's way involved a cup of coffee with lots of sugar. If you saw him at a local airport, sipping the drink, completely engrossed in the day's _Telegraph _and attempting to ignore the woman who he was with (she was distracting him from the crossword), one might imagine him depressed. Airports do typically have that effect on people. But this was not so. Lowe was, above all, exceedingly glad to be home, as far as he could consider London home. Sure, there was some mild business about aliens, but he was sure whatever government agency Catherine had been talking to could sort that out with a click of there fingers.

He put 'violence' as the final answer to the crossword, and strolled off to the toilets. After relieving himself he glanced at his reflection in the mirror – he looked awful. He'd gone beyond manly stubble, and didn't particularly like the half-beard look. And there was an annoying crack in the mirror. It went straight across his beautiful eyes.

Catherine was talking to some people when he got back. The man was large, uniformed and intimidating in the way that makes you trust them. The woman was slight and dark haired, with slightly severe eyebrows that suggests severity. Ray and Warner – those two alien agent people that the train conversation had been with. UNIT.

He'd heard of UNIT before, of course, as British secret agencies are not the most secretive things in the world. He'd never known, or cared, about what they did, though he did feel his share of indignation when the _Telegraph_ had published expenses claims of its top dogs.

Ray, the large one, had taken his seat, he grumpily and loudly (to make it clear he was grumpy) sat down by Catherine, making no attempt at greeting.

Ray held out his hand. 'Lieutenant General Ray,' he said, as genially as the Americans generally are. He pronounced "lieutenant" wrong, Lowe noted. 'We are very grateful for your help. I trust you have read the report, and know what we're dealing with.'

Lowe nodded, noting for the first time the group of security guards that had encircled the airport's café. They'd taken his luggage already. That made him ever so slightly annoyed.

'Mr Lowe, I do not wish to detain you this evening,' said Frau Warner, who hadn't taken the pleasure of introducing herself. 'We must let you rest, and talk to you in the morning.' She snapped her fingers, and a security guard came over. His gun was very noticeable. No more words, and Lowe and Catherine were ushered into a nearby car, that looked like a London cab but probably wasn't.

Some surprisingly bulky looking security guards had taken them to a surprisingly posh hotel, where Catherine had unsurprisingly shut the door of her room in Lowe's face as soon as she could.

He stood there, not surprised. One of the security guards, dressed not quite in a tuxedo but looking like he aspired towards Bond, gave Lowe a slip of card with a telephone number on it.

'We'll collect you at ten tomorrow. Call us if you need anything,' said the guard before turning and walking off.

Lowe entered his room. It was surprisingly large. Surprisingly, his luggage was already there. He chucked his hand luggage beside it, which consisted of a copy of that day's _Telegraph_ and a toothbrush (they'd taken away his toothpaste in security). On top of this he placed the UNIT report he'd read on the plane and didn't particularly want to think about – massacres weren't really his thing.

He collapsed onto his bed and lay there, sinking slowly into the sheets. He could do with a rest.

He woke before midnight. In a panicky moment he wondered why he was lying on sheets that soft, comfortable, warm, enjoyable and many other positive and unfamiliar, before remembering the situation. Maybe this hotel had a bar. Maybe UNIT would pay.

This single thought had replaced all others in his mind and, despite the hour, he rolled out of bed, still wearing the clothes he had been earlier, and found his way to the door, down the stairs, and into a near empty bar. He ordered a drink that sounded expensive and the next day's _Telegraph_.

He settled down beside the fire. It was almost like an English country manor – in fact he wouldn't have been surprised to learn that the hotel had been and English country manor, and had been moved and carefully replicated in the English capital.

The room was very near empty. Some man with his head rested on the back of his chair, snoring gently. Two people were playing cards on the other end of the room. And the drink was good.

He must have dozed, because he snapped back to his senses with a Russian voice talking to him. Those two card players had come over. They were wearing dark glasses, presumably to up the intimidation factor.

'Hello, Mr Lovey.' The pronunciation error irked him more than strangeness that his name was well known. 'Ve have been sent to collect somefink. Ve vud like ze sample.'

A dozed mind does not work quickly, and Lowe's didn't work quickly at the best of times. 'What sample?' he asked, innocently.

'You know vat sample. I am from NATUR, and vil not refrain from hurting you quite a lot.'

'Oh. That's very pleasant. But I'm afraid I don't have the sample.'

'Of course you don't. They would not trust you viv it. But you know of its location, no?' The Russian raised a big stick.

'Ah. Yes.' Lowe paused for a moment, inventing wildly. 'Dr. Roberts has it.' He smiled, baring his teeth, hoping it didn't look to fake. At least Catherine hadn't heard that.

'Fank you.' The Russian raised the big stick higher, making it very clear that Lowe was about to feel some pain. Quite a lot, presumably. If he had been awake properly and not mildly tipsy, he would have been scared.

The Russians collapsed first. No shot had been heard, but Lowe could have sworn he saw two small flashes of white light. He looked around, wildly, seeing the formerly-asleep man walking over to them.

'You should be in bed, professor. We expect you at the meeting bright and early tomorrow.' He had one of those UNIT earpieces in, reaching such a low level of passion that seeing him holding a distinctly alien looking gun was quite a shocking contrast.

'Go to bed, NATUR will be no more problem up there. I will deal with these two.'

The Russians were still breathing. One of them had lost their sunglasses, and the colour of his eyes shocked Lowe – it was green. The same green that the sample was. And not just the iris, but the entire eye. No wonder they wore glasses.

The UNIT guard was talking into his sleeve. Lowe stumbled up to bed.

If a friendly alien from Centuri 9 had been happening to pass an insignificant level 5 planet on the way to the Sirius Cluster interstellar conference Iota.5 on Mars, he may have noticed a steadily growing signal emanating from a small island on the aforementioned planet.

On further investigation, he could have identified this signal as a simple, two word message, which his onboard computer would have had little trouble translating from its native High Rutan – "Help me", repeated again and again. The signal wasn't strong, and no friendly alien from Centuri 9 had been invited to the Iota.5 conference. Nobody noticed.

Yet.

The Rutan, deep inside the Surrey UNIT laboratories, had found a source of electricity. Unbeknownst to those testing it, it was feeding. And the signal, the automatic, panicky signal it was sending out, was growing stronger by the minute.

If anyone heard it, anyone at all, the Earth would be in great danger.


End file.
